The Days of Roleplaying
by Sebastian's Emil
Summary: Temporary title. Stories are all in draft forms; I havent completed any of this. It will take a very long time. 380 days is roughly the amount of time I first started roleplaying on Chatworld, to recently when I quit (again).
1. The Rise of Lucifer

5/20/12 - 6/6/13

The Dream Which Lasted 380 Days.

I am writing to you as deliberately as I can. I want nothing of my experience forgotten, for each part of it is a key of remembrance; one happening links another, and another; the ripple effect, if you will. Dreams are a very delicate manner, you see. Dreams are very fragile. You can never be certain if, when recalling a dream, if you are simply remembering a previous moment in your waking life, or if these are indeed thoughts and visions you have concurred up in your dreaming. I thank the amnesiac for inspiring me to want to remember.

My dream began on a cliff, overlooking a vast and shimmering ocean. There at first was a boy alone on that cliff, gazing. A boy was all he was to me. An angel descended upon the boy and in a chorus of laughter, the angel pushed the boy off and watched his body break against the sharp edges of the rocks until his corpse rested in a distorted pile on the shoreline. The angel called Lucifer appeared before the boy and returned the life of which he had stolen, then returned him to his gazing on the edge. The boy's name, the angel soon found out, was named Jericho. The angel whispered like the form on the snake he once was, and coaxed the boy into submission, making promises, telling secrets. Then again, Lucifer threw the boy off the cliff, paying very little concern in morals. He, in all aspects, appeared to be the perfect mimicry of Lucifer in Mark Twain's book, The Mysterious Stranger.

Along came two angels; Clary and Xandria, of both natures were thrilling and beautiful. The angel Lucifer made a game of taunting them, demonstrating humanity as fools and nothing more than sheep who can easily be replaced. He would create clay models of nothing, breathe life into them, name them- then destroy them. He would tell witnesses of the uselessness of emotions and empathy, of how it isn't important when one person dies, or how. He walked the world willing to give anyone exactly what they wished for, at a price that seemed so wonderful until the bargain was made, and he told them who around them would suffer for their selfishness. With his wickedness, Lucifer quickly became a feared spectacle, hated, yet gazed at with awe by mankind. The angels were not pleased, and questioned the fallen endlessly. But he did not yield. He would merely clap his hands and dance, distorting his face and laughing sweetly like the singing bells of a wind-chime.

Then came a time when a woman of dark possession appeared. She was interested in self-infliction and the infliction of others. With a flap-book full of needles, she would amuse herself by tormenting those around her who interested her on some strange level. Her name was Roxy.

But before I go on, I must leap back a few days in this dream- to the flight of the dragon.

There something beautiful about dragons. They have always held a special meaning for me, being imaginary and "much too complicated" to pretend to be. Any attempts at writing about a dragon would feel too generic and not personal enough; the meaning I would want to express as a writer would not come across to the readers. Yet somehow, in my dream there was a dragon of darkness, of which I did not, at the time, understand.

The great dragon Ebony was a threat to Lucifer. And as soon as its appearance was noted by the fallen angel, a battle of sword and claw began. This dragon was not a creature of evil intentions; she had a beautiful heart and an even more beautiful soul. She was not the typical dragon one would expect to read about in a story; she was kind and understood the ways of humans better than the humans themselves. But this, you see, is how Lucifer thought of himself. He believed his ways were superior to anyone else's, and his laws and ideas just made much more sense. Yet he did not care if his ideas were trampled on, because he, deep down, never really cared in the first place. By any excuse which came to his filthy mind, the fallen angel would taunt the dragon and mock her at every chance he found. The angel would sneak into the dragon's cave and taunt her into fighting her, even though the dragon was often weak and seemed very ill. But on and on the foolish angel pressed, reckless, careless, having nothing to keep him from his own actions. When suddenly… Jericho appeared. Like a shining star falling into the earth between angel and dragon, this boy ended the fight with a firm voice, laying a hand on the dragon. It was then that Lucifer realized that the boy, Jericho, was the dragon's rider. This was laughable, and the angel could hardly contain his amusement.

Over time, the meeting of Roxy came. But it was not a fond "howdoyoudo". It was through witnessing the possessive woman in action, for she was tormenting the great dragon with a lovely collection of sewing needles and pins, laughing, enjoying herself. Roxy was quite a character, wanting to be something; to prove her worth both to herself and to others, wanting to rise to the top at any and all costs. When the fallen angel came across Roxy, he was thrilled, and saddled up beside the morally twisted human and helped bring terrible pain into Ebony's body and spirit, attempting to shatter the dragon simply for being alive. It became very intimate; the mutual torture of Ebony, and the angel found himself drawn to the human in a disgusted and dominating sort of way. But as independent as the woman acted to be, she could not help but let her guard slip; in the angel's presence, she became flustered. Sensing this, the angel kissed the human and made her feel like she was important, though he felt nothing for her, while on the ground, tied by chains and paralyzed by pain, Ebony began to die.

Then along came Jericho as before, and he attempted to save his dear friend, her pain becoming his own. As dragon and rider suffered, Lucifer laughed and coaxed the boy into listening to him, telling him to kill his dragon. But when the boy failed, Lucifer ran forward and let the dragon free, then shot up into the sky, following close behind her.

In the sky, the angel and dragon fought once more; a battle of fire and blood and ash. I watched on in horror, not quite sure what ever this dragon did to deserve this. But Lucifer is Lucifer, and he is no one else: with a great fiery sword, he struck down Ebony and out of the sky she fell. In modern times, this would appear as a great plate rolling out of the sky in black smoke and heavy bright flames. But this was a living creature; of legend, and of my creation: I believed in this dragon and my internal knowledge of them was recalled in my dreaming. This was no normal dragon. Yet the Lucifer of my dreams struck her down.

But this was not the end of the great dragon. Nor would it be the last, for she is a very strong-willed creature.

As time came to pass, the fallen angel left the world and returned in his own time to taunt and spit in the ears of his fellow angels, Clary and Xandria, watching them come and go. For the sake of tradition, Lucifer would stand at the edge of the cliff- to push the boy, Jericho, off the side- just to watch his body bleed out at the shoreline below…


	2. NieR: The Story of Emil

In the days I dreamt of Lucifer, there were many others he had faced and spoken with, but these specifics elude me. So allow me to move on, for time has been moving along all this time without me.

When the reign of Lucifer had faded back into the corners of my mind, a boy of similar character was born; like Lucifer, he was blind. Blind in so many ways ... This boy came across the world as someone lonely and yet content with his life, for his past was forgotten and, for him, only the future remained. He was a hopeful boy, being only 12, yet full of compassion and knowledge. His blindness, you see, was not of his choice. He was diseased in a way not unlike the legendary Medusa; his eyes could turn anyone into stone. So for this sake, he kept his eyes tightly shut and wore a blindfold at all times, living in his mansion with his butler Sebastian; all the other house guests- and his family- were frozen statues in the courtyard, never to be free from their state of petrification.

His name was Emil. And his story is the story of Nier, played out and seen through a side-character's eyes.

On day one of his sudden flash of an existence, the boy met Woe, tripping over her since he was blind and did not feel her presence, as she moves without sound and with grace.


	3. Maldoror is Ded

Let me, for a moment, step into the future.

Let me write about the days of Maldoror, before this complex story loses its complexity.

In my dream played a song of Current 93, and thus opened the eyes of the darkness within me once more; from the womb of my warped body was born a full grown man without an ounce of moral sense. He was born without a past or a future. I had been isolated for far too long, and this adult child was the offspring of that isolation… Yes; if anything, he was born from the agony I must have been feeling at that time. Regret, loneliness. Jealousy.

He came like a ghost from my body, and I was forced to witness his doings in a daze, unaware exactly of my place in all of this. He walked into a forest by a glistening waterfall, where an elf lady stood with a small, strange girl who was, at that time, pressing mud against the side of her face. Maldoror lurked in the shadows, edging closer, eyes bright. A man was with the elf and the girl; at the sight of him, Maldoror's heart leapt; I could feel this too; excitement. But I could not place why.

Maldoror edged around the trio until he was behind the man. The young girl was saying how badly she wished to have elf ears. The child, I later discovered, was named Mya, and was often referred to as strange due to her behavior. But my creation – this lyrical insanity that has seemed to have a mind of its own- I knew he was limitless, and that his actions had no consequences. He stepped towards the man from behind, cupping a hand around his neck, pushing him close against his chest, whispering and kissing his skin, making the stranger's skin crawl. Licking his face, fondling his pants… As I watched him carry out these actions, I felt strangely guilty, and felt myself withdraw from the scene.

Maldoror continued this game without me; he taunted the man further, drawing the suspicion from the elf, who called herself Carah. Yes…Carah. He would never forget that name. He threatened her life and the life of the child, to see what type of reaction would bubble forth from each of them. Yet the man seemed oblivious. Distant. So Maldoror continued to taunt him, seduce him, watch the blood turn his cheeks red; he withdrew stones from his pockets and pushed them into his mouth through a kiss.

Harlem was his name. A pretty name for a slave. But nothing more; he soon departed from the scene, leaving the elf and child alone with my creation. Maldoror turned to the elf and attempted to attack her, but a power was within her that held him back and made his movements slow. He felt foolish, and was quickly over powered and humiliated, time and time again. In the foreground, the strange little Mya would clutch onto her dead squirrel friend, Mr. S, who she had kept as her companion long after her family's death. Mya was found soon after her wandering by Carah, who took her in as her adopted daughter. But the little girl was still quite unstable; she would get very close to strangers and play with dead animals, whispering to trees, laughing loudly in the dark... Maldoror did not care for any of this; yet quickly gained the child's trust with his equally disturbing ways. It amused him to be able to win the favor of the girl so easily, while the elf despised him. "He just wants a hug, Mommy!" wheezed Mya one day as he strangled her tightly, keeping her restrained in his lap. Maldoror often could kiss the elf, knowing that she was reluctant to fight back if the girl was watching. Maldoror's love for Carah was, in all ways… Madness. And this would be proven again and again as the two interacted. Yet there were times of gentleness; understanding, even, when the two would stand side by side, and trace the constellation Orion in the night sky.

The relationship between Mya and Maldoror, in a one-sided sort of way, was more of a murderous affection between father and daughter. As fond as the man was of the child, he would nearly always attempt to bring her harm- and at one point, attempt to rape her in order to have her bear his children. This would frighten any sensible girl into avoiding him like the plague he was. However, the girl was born with a very stubborn attitude; despite whatever darkness one may have revealed to her- whatever crimes she may have witnessed- she would always look deeper within the accused and see the hidden beauty of one's soul; that was her gift. So if Maldoror was, for instance, trying to gouge the poor child's eyes out with his fingernails, her retaliation was brief and savage, like hawk defending its nest; all claws and loud shrieking. Carah would often step in, angrily pushing him off of the girl and scold him as if he were simply an unruly dog, going so far as to strike him across the face. But when Carah was not around to protect her, Mya would handle him by herself, earning battle wounds and mixed-messages from the insane man's rambling and his unpredictable actions around strangers; the pain and emotion frustration she felt whenever he taunted her... But it can't rain every day; in the end, she was always happy to see him, for she believed that he was, despite his faults, a good man at heart.

But this is only a fragment of my dream; this memory; this story… There was a time when, for instance, Maldoror witnessed a fox run over and snatch away Mya's dear Mr. S, yet did nothing to stop him. As a way to get the child to stop whining, he threw a white rock out onto the grass and told her to picture an animal in her mind. So she did. Maldoror told her to touch the stone, and whatever animal she wanted would appear… Yet Harlem, seized by fear, threw himself over the rock, not allowing Mya to touch it. At once, the rock molded into a shape; a monkey. This monkey became a part of Harlem in a supernatural way, binding both their lives into one; if the monkey were to die, then so would Harlem… That was the price of getting exactly what you wanted.

But Harlem was a wise young man, and quickly shouldered this new responsibility with honor, knowing he had been willing to die for either Mya or Carah- if it came to that. Slightly insulted by Harlem's seriousness, Maldoror tried to insult him, yet his pride quickly turned to admiration- an admiration that only continued to grow.

Among the ones who Maldoror himself admired, there was a woman named Eliza Lucille, who he came across in a forest during his aimless wandering through my dreams. He found her sitting on a purple recliner which had long pin-needles sticking out of it at random parts of the cushions. She was beautiful and tempting, and as they examined one another for the first time, they quickly made the same mistake: They each believed they were better than the other, in all aspects.


End file.
